I jumped on the bandwagon and recently picked up a copy of Rupi Kaur’s brilliant little book of poetry, Milk and Honey. What is it about, you might ask? Everything important, I’d respond. Especially to girls who are still growing—essentially, all of us women.
This collection of poems picks apart trauma, loss, healing, and femininity. Much like it’s cover and title, the whole aesthetic of the book was very minimalist. Each page hosted a different story, and each story was short-spoken yet crafted to carry such an imperative reminder. I believe anyone who has gone through pain will be able to relate to Kaur, no matter the gender, age, or scenario of the affliction. I found myself reading through this book just for the pretty package. I didn’t think I’d get so nostalgic over old wounds.
It is broken up into four parts, taking us through a journey about one’s own metamorphosis. Each chapter tells a different tale of sorrow, but like most tragedies there tends to be a self-revolution forthcoming the end. One particular section (Healing) worked better than any therapy, medicine, or tear stained pillows ever could for me.
It’s rare to find a piece of writing that truly grips you, as if to say look how similar we are!
One of my favorite poems is on page 95:
“i didn’t leave because
i stopped loving you
i left because the longer
i stayed the less
i loved myself”
I recently broke up with an amazing boy for the sole purpose of needing to recollect myself before I could give my mind, body, and essence to someone else. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and it wouldn’t be fair to myself. If you cannot be in a relationship with yourself, then how are you supposed to give some part away to another person? This book couldn’t have landed in my hands at a better moment.
Not only does the collection have brilliant prose, but whimsical drawings as well. Like the style of the writing, the art is similarly designed to be less-and-more—all plain lines and jagged cuts. It’s just enough to add to the imagination, but also convey the general message. And by the way, it’s as beautiful as the poetry. (Looking for a minimalistic tattoo? Read. This. Book.)
Literature has proven once more to be the best remedy for heartache.
“You tell me
i am not like most girls
and learn to kiss me with your eyes closed
something about the phrase—something about
how i have to be unlike the women
i call sisters in order to be wanted
makes me want to spit your tongue out
like i am supposed to be proud you picked me
as if i should be relieved you think
i am better than them”
Whenever you’re feeling so passionate about something that you can barely find the words to express yourself, turn to this book and take a few calming breathes. It will come to you soon after. Because not only do these poems comfort me, they inspire a woman slumbering in my soul—waiting to be tempted awake.
Recommended to: Everyone.